


Sneaking

by SomewhereApart



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dimples Queen, Other, outlaw queen week day 6: teach me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 19:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16898160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: There’s not much that can pull Regina out of a sour mood, but somehow the thief’s boy seems to manage…





	Sneaking

“Papa, who’s that?”

Robin has just scooped Roland up into his arms, never more grateful to see his smiling face than after sitting through a council meeting with the Queen and her full temper. He follows the boy’s gaze, and there she is, stalking down the far side of the hall, still roiling with fury.

“That’s the Queen, my boy,” he tells him, and Roland’s brow knits with confusion.

“It is?” he asks, his little nose scrunching. “It doesn’t look like her.”

Robin watches her for a moment, until he can no longer see her face. Roland has spent enough time in the Queen’s presence to recognize her, even from a distance, but Robin supposes that she’s done up a bit differently today – her usual regal coif traded for a severe ponytail and a black lace headpiece that creeps over her forehead in sharp triangles. Her makeup is dark and while she’s not often one for smiles, as she’d crossed the hall, her face had been pinched and murderous. Not a look Roland has seen on her often.

Roland’s lower lip juts out in a pout, and he ducks his head toward Robin slightly as he whispers, “She looks scary.”

He’s not entirely wrong, Robin thinks. With that look on her face, even Robin himself would give her a wide berth if he happened across her. Still, there’s no reason for Roland to fear her, of that Robin is sure. He’s seen enough of her motherly instincts to know that the boy would never come to harm by her hand.

“She’s a bit done up,” Robin explains to the boy, “But you oughtn’t fear her.”

“Can we go talk to her?” he asks, fear all but gone, and Robin feels a surge of emotion at his boy’s complete and utter trust in him. He says Regina is safe, and so she must be, as far as Roland is concerned. The word of his father is enough. It’s not a new experience, not by a long shot, but the utter faith of a son in his father is not something that ever grows old.

Still, Robin knows that while she’s harmless, the Queen is hardly approachable, certainly not right now, and not by him. She’d been quite riled up at being overruled in his favor, and he’s certain she’d have a hard time holding back her sharp tongue, even in front of Roland. And he doesn’t want to subject the boy to that particular weapon, so he says, “You know, my boy, I don’t think that’s wise right now.” He jostles his son slightly, affectionately, and lowers his voice to a whisper as he confides, “She’s a bit cranky today.”

He grins at his boy, and Roland giggles in response, and agrees, “She looks cranky.”

“Robin!” The voice that calls to him is soft and feminine. Sweet. Snow White.

He turns to greet her and smiles, telling his boy, “Now this lady, though, she’s quite kind.”

Snow looks suitably flattered by the compliment, and tilts her head curiously. Roland ducks his head and grins, and waves, and says, “Hi, Princess Snow.”

“Well, hello there, sweet Roland,” she greets, reaching for that waving hand and kissing it lightly, as though Roland is the one owed fealty and not her. She turns her attention to Robin as the boy ducks coyly into his neck, and her expression turns more apologetic. “I’m sorry about Regina. She can be… difficult… when she doesn’t get her way.”

Difficult is a word for it, he thinks, and scoffs lightly, still smiling. “So I’ve seen,” he muses, and then, “I can handle whatever she serves out, milady, no need to apologize on her behalf. But thank you.”

Snow nods again, and she is still holding onto Roland’s hand. The boy has come out of hiding again, and is currently examining her wedding ring, spinning it around and around her finger. For her part, the princess seems entirely unbothered by it. “Still.” She smiles. “If you can spare a few minutes, we thought we might go over what we know of Rumplestiltskin’s estate, come up with some tactical plans.”

Robin raises a brow. “Without the Queen?”

“It’s easier without Regina’s constant complaining, yes,” Snow says, and it’s bolder than he’d expect her to be with most people - she’s been pretty fair about establishing a united front with her former stepmother in front of the kingdom. But as odd as it may seem to him, Robin has found himself in their inner circle, privy to more honesty than others, apparently.

He’s not sure how the already steamed monarch will take to their planning behind her back, but he’s heard more than one cutting remark about her having been dethroned long ago, so he supposes he owes more to the woman standing before him than the one who is constantly digging under his skin. So he nods, and says, “I’ll be along in a moment, if that’s alright.”

Snow tell him, “Of course,” and heads back in the direction of the council chamber, and Robin sets Roland on his feet again and crouches in front of him.

“Why don’t you run along and play for a bit, my boy?” Roland nods, and says, _Okay, Papa_ , and Robin has just enough time to add, “Keep out of trouble,” before the boy is scampering off down the corridor.

It doesn’t escape his notice that he’s heading in the same direction that the Queen had disappeared, but he hopes the boy is wiser than to chase after her. And even if he isn’t, Robin stands by his earlier assessment - she’s not a danger, not to his boy. He’s safe here, on the castle grounds.

Robin heads for the council chambers, vowing to make himself as useful as possible for as long as possible – for his boy’s sake, if nothing else. The castle may feel stifling some days, but it’s the safest harbor they have until this witch is taken care of.

**.::.**

Regina is furious. Furious.

How dare they overrule her like that – so publicly and with such a blasé attitude – as if her arguments aren’t even worth the breath it took to make them. And in favor of the thief! That wretched man with his smirking mouth and laughing eyes and nearly unwavering good humor.

It grates on her – that he can be so content. That anyone can be in this godforsaken land that has only ever caused her heartache, and death, and ruin.

She stalks out into the open air, into a courtyard that is blessedly empty. She doesn’t want company right now, doesn’t want anything, doesn’t want any of this, this life, this place, this palace that has always felt more like a prison. Now she is stuck here, again, but instead of Leopold being her jailer, it is Snow, and David, and that is only marginally better.

Alright, objectively, it is worlds better to live under this roof without a husband she doesn’t want and a child she wishes to murder – sharing space with the insipid Charmings is far preferable to that – but she still hates it. Hates that she is here, and not in Storybrooke, not with Henry, not where she belongs, because she has never belonged here. Never. Life in a castle was never her plan to begin with, and once again, she feels the burn of resentment, the frustration of a life constantly hijacked and jerked around, and Regina is furious and frustrated, and before she can stop them, there are hot, angry tears spilling from her eyes.

She stops when she reaches the railing - the end of the courtyard - and sucks in a breath in an attempt to calm herself. She wipes angrily at the few tears that managed to escape and when she whirls back toward the direction she came, that’s when she sees it.

A tiny figure, ducking back behind a column only yards away from her. He’s not yet old enough to claim stealth, his reflexes just a few seconds too slow to hide himself before she could identify him. And even now, as he hides, she can see the edge of his cape fluttering around the side of the column. Roland. The thief’s boy. She may not like his father very much, but the boy she can’t help being charmed by.

And while she still doesn’t want to be bothered at the moment, she hasn’t the heart to yell at a child, so she forces herself to take a few deep, calming breaths, and strides in his direction, watching the place where she can see his little hand gripping the column. She only makes it a few steps before that unruly mop of hair peeks out again, those dark eyes following. When he sees her, she freezes, and his eyes go wide as saucers before he ducks back again.

Regina smirks, her rage down to a simmer and cooling rapidly. She takes a few more steps, then waits. Waits. After a few silent moments, he peeks out again, and she makes sure he’s spied her before she disappears in a plume of purple smoke. When she reappears right behind him, he’s still staring at the space she’d vacated, and that smirk turns to a devious grin before she bends down and gives him a quiet, “Boo!”

The boy spins, shrieking, his little arms flailing up near his head, and maybe it shouldn’t be funny, but it is, and Regina snickers merrily - something she hasn’t had much excuse to do lately, and it feels good.

“You scared me!” he cries, and she crouches down to eye level and reaches out to tug playfully at his cape.

“Well, weren’t you trying to scare me?” she reasons, smiling at him in a way she hopes is pleasant and free from the burning anger she has still not quite managed to eradicate completely.

“No,” he says, and that’s when she notices his trembling lip, and the way he’s still pressed up against the column, his back flush to it, his little head ducked down. When he tells her, “I was just sneaking,” it is watery and there are tears in his eyes and Regina suddenly feels intensely guilty.

She hadn’t meant to genuinely frighten him.

Her mouth draws down into a frown and she lifts a hand to his cheek, as she says, “Well, then I’m truly sorry.” Roland recoils slightly from her touch, looking her up and down suspiciously, and it makes something ache terribly inside her - she doesn’t want fear from this child - or any child - ever again. “Roland… Are you really frightened of me?” she asks quietly, dreading the answer.

He looks her up and down once, and then tells her, “I don’t like you when you look like this,” and Regina is floored.

She looks down at herself - she doesn’t think she’s particularly severe today, but then again she’s not terribly soft either. Corset and jacket and tight pants, all jet black, her hair tightly tied. With a soft sigh she closes her eyes, focuses, tilts her head, and in a plume of purple smoke she negotiates a complete wardrobe change. When it clears she’s in soft purple velvet that clings and slinks down to the floor, her hair loose and curling. She opens her eyes and smiles warmly at Roland, then asks, “How’s that?”

He grins at her, reaching forward boldly and running his fingers through the ends of her long locks. “Beautiful,” he approves, and Regina grins.

She reaches out and adjusts the clasp of his cloak, telling him conspiratorially, “I know a place you can practice your sneaking. Would you like to see?”

Brown eyes light up, his hair flopping as he nods enthusiastically. “Yes!”

She grips his tiny fingers (tries very hard not to think of the son she left behind) and tells him to close his eyes. When he opens them again, they’re in an old deserted corridor, littered with coats of arms and antique old, sturdy furniture that is currently out of use. With a wave of her hand, the wall sconces light. With another, the doors at either end of the hall shut and seal. It’s well lit enough that he won’t trip, and there’s no way he can duck away and lose himself down another hallway.

“Alright, Roland,” she says. “I’m going to close my eyes and count to ten, and then we’ll see if I can find you, or if you truly are as sneaky as your father.”

“Okay!” he agrees, and Regina lets her eyes fall shut, and begins to count. She hears him scamper off, giggling, not stealthy in the least, and when she turns around she can see the top of his head over the top of a dusty old cabinet along the wall. She could be at his side in under a minute, but she searches three times as long as she needs to before “finding” him.

He giggles when she leans across the surface and grins down at him, and Regina feels a swell of affection in her chest, chased by a pang of longing for a different boy, and a different giggle. She swallows against the pain, her smile never wavering as she tells him needlessly, “I found you.”

“Mmhmm!”

“Roland,” she says thoughtfully, as he pats hands still a little chubby with baby fat against the wooden surface, leaving streaky fingerprints in the dust. “Would you mind a few suggestions on your sneaking?”

Roland tilts his head at her, then shakes it. “No, but I’m a good sneaker. Papa says so.”

“Mm, quite good,” she agrees - and truth be told he’s better at hiding than most boys his age. Still, “But you see, I found you just now because I could see you in your hiding place.”

Dark eyes go wide and concerned. “You could?”

“I could,” she confirms, reaching over and giving a gentle tug to one dark, curly lock. “I saw these curls.” He claps one hand against hers, looking positively aghast that he’d not been properly hidden. “When you’re hiding behind something like this, something that’s not quite as tall as you are, you should crouch down.” Regina does just that, drawing back and bringing herself low, squatting until her head is below the top of the cabinet (a much harder feat for her than Roland, that’s for sure).

A second later, his head pops around the corner, low enough that she can tell he’s on hands and knees even before he crawls forward until his shoulders make an appearance, a grin splitting his face. “Like this!”

“Yes, exactly,” she grins. “You need to hide your whole self, even the parts that are taller than what you can see.”

He nods sagely, then announces, “Your turn to hide, Majesty!”

They spend the rest of the afternoon that way, kicking up dust and smiles, taking turns hiding and seeking, Regina pointing out errant boots and giggles loud enough to be heard clear across the hall.

It’s not until the sky is growing dark and Roland starts to complain he’s hungry that it occurs to Regina she should probably return him to his father.

.::.

By dinnertime, Robin is beside himself with worry. He hasn’t seen hide nor hair of his son since he went trotting after the Queen – who is missing as well. He’s tried to tell himself that it’s nothing, that they’re probably off together, adventuring somewhere. For all her ire and moodiness, Regina is generally kind to Roland, and once or twice he’s caught them playing together.

Still, he’s walked every inch of this castle that he knows Roland is familiar with, has asked his men to do the same, to keep an eye out, and they’ve come up with nothing.

He’s just about to request some more drastic efforts to find his boy when they come strolling into the dining hall – his son, and the Queen. Robin blinks hard, for a second convinced he’s seeing things in his worry. She’s dressed down, soft velvet and loose, messy curls, her clothes and hair flecked with dust. Roland is grey-frosted, too, and grinning as he waves to his father.

Robin lets out a breath of relief, holding his arms out for his son as the pair approaches, Regina either unaware or uncaring about the many curious eyes on her disheveled state.

When they’re close enough (but just barely), Roland flops forward, away from Regina and into his father’s arms with a happy little giggle.

“There you are,” Robin greets, going for happy-to-see-him but sounding more exasperated than he means. “I’ve been looking all over for you, my boy. You gave me quite a scare.”

“We were practicing sneaking!” Roland tells him excitedly, whirling his head toward Regina, who was beginning to look like she was about to attempt slinking away unnoticed. “Regina knows all the secret parts of the castle, Papa!”

“I bet she does,” Robin agrees, his gaze on the Queen as well, now that his son is safely in his grasp. She looks… stunning. Softer than he’s used to seeing her, and happier too, her cheeks a bit flushed, a small smile on her lips that manages to reach her eyes for once. A far cry from the last time he’d set eyes on her, that’s for certain.

“I lost track of time,” she tells him, reaching out and giving Roland’s side a playful pinch, earning a squirm and a laugh for her efforts. “We were having fun, weren’t we?”

Roland nods firmly, and Robin feels something swell in his heart – affection, attraction. “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he offers with a smile, but he can’t help adding, “Perhaps next time you can let someone know beforehand, though, Your Majesty? I was beginning to worry I’d lost him.”

Her pleasant smile cracks and dims, and she gives him a little nod, bids his boy, “Have a good supper, Roland,” and turns to leave. He expects her to move to the head table, to join the Prince and Princess and partake of quail and roasted vegetables and wine like the rest of them, but she doesn’t. She’s turned toward the entrance of the hall again, as if she intends to leave, and Robin frowns.

She can’t have eaten already; she’s been with Roland all afternoon.

“Regina,” he calls after her, and she freezes at the use of her name, turns slowly on her heel to look at him. She’s stormy now. Not quite mustering up the cutting glares she’d boasted earlier in the day, but her good humor seems to have been completely sapped in an instant. One dark brow arches expectantly. “Will you not stay to eat?”

Regina’s gaze flits to Roland, one hand rising to press against her belly, fingers fisting in the fabric there as her forehead creases and her mouth pinches, her head shaking side to side.

“I’m not hungry,” she tells him, her voice soft and sad, and it’s not until she’s turned away again, not until he’s watched her walk through the door, that it occurs to Robin what he’d said to plummet her mood so quickly and so soundly.

 _I was beginning to worry I’d lost him, he’d told her_ , and he has a flash of the two of them in her crypt that night they first arrived here: _He’s not dead, just lost to me forever_. He berates himself silently. A foolish, careless choice of words. One that had caused her pain without meaning to, sent her retreating to solitude with an empty belly.

The guilt of it gnaws at him, has him distracted all through the rest of his meal, all through Roland’s bedtime story and the long minutes it takes his boy to slip into sleep in this big feather bed they now share.

He sneaks out once Roland is asleep, though – asks Much to keep an eye on the lad and then makes his way down to the kitchens, nicking from the stores to fill a plate. A bit of cheese, some dried fruit, a hunk of cured meat. The butt of a loaf of crusty bread. Not quite quail and root vegetables, but a meal of some sort.

A bottle of wine pilfered and tucked beneath his arm makes the collection complete, and he traverses the halls as quickly as he can without drawing attention, making his way to the Queen’s quarters. They’re unmanned – she prefers her privacy and doesn’t place much trust in the knights of her former enemies – so his approach is unimpeded.

He knocks, and receives no answer, though he’s not sure he’d truly expected one.

“Milady, I’ve brought you a bit of food; you shouldn’t go hungry,” he speaks through the door. “And an apology for my careless tongue, if you’ll have it.”

There’s silence for so long that he thinks she’ll refuse him even that, and then, just as he’s about to give up and turn tail, the door cracks opens to the sight of her. She’s in a dressing gown, her hair damp and plaited over one shoulder, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed, but still managing to glare quite effectively.

She holds out her hand for the plate, a flicker of approval across her face when she spies the wine.

Robin passes the food to her, allows her to free the bottle from his hold, but when he tries to give her another apology – a proper one this time – she cuts him off with a, “Goodnight, thief,” and sets the door to closing on his face.

The lack of bite in her tone is as close to forgiveness as he imagines he’ll get.


End file.
